It felt like eight freight trains were riding towards us, on a phosphorous crescent. It was slightly unnerving, as our group sat on the marlin board, suited and masked-up, hugging our knees. Like parachutists preparing for a jump, we were all silent.
Our boat, the Magellan, had been leading this pod of humpback whales, for quite some time. We were 200 metres ahead, maintaining a constant distance between us and these giants. I sensed the time was now upon us. In a few moments, I would leap off the marlin board and into the water…into their path. Something that was totally illogical!
Like lying down in the middle of a runway, as 8 jumbo jets came into land!
I had no time to think. All of a sudden, the boat veered sharply to the left. My heart beat quickened. I nervously rechecked my gear. I was seconds away from being thrust into the fore of something so powerful, that my own humanity was dwarfed into a powerless insignificance. And then the engine tone slowed and dipped. Eventually the thud-thud died.
For an eternity, I heard air… if that was possible. Then the sound of a horn. The watching was over. The time was now. I had reached the point of no return. I was confronting the unknown. Fear of water, fear of sharks; my own insecurities. The sound was deafening: “Go, go, go!” As I pushed out from the marlin board, into the big blue, I had no time to go “fuck!” I just swam. For my life…and my pride. And then I met my destiny.
I could have been a trench soldier in World War I, waiting for that shrill whistle to jump over the top, helpless but hopeful. I had nowhere to go but forward, my meaningless and proverbial “bayonet” just useless for what I would face.
A lot of thoughts cross your mind before you plunge into a vast ocean to meet a headlong throng of humpback whales, especially when they are travelling towards you at 7 to 9 knots. My first question was, “Why?”
At 250 metres and closing, whales look like submarines barrelling towards you, not torpedoes. They are definitely going to hit you! I could have been all toasty and comfortable at home, sipping my coffee. Leading my same-old-same boring life. Swiping through Facebook. Checking emails. Or I could be out there in the wild: no phone, no electrics, no swiping. No personal challenges. A complete detachment from living and earning. Or I could push the envelope even wider and do something for myself, to tick that bucket list item, that sense of adventure that I gave up the moment I stopped being a kid. I can almost hear the voices now: “Don’t jump in the puddle!” Why? “You’ll get dirty!” So? “I mean it!” So do I! “I’m serious!” SPLASH! Life is judged by experiences and only you can make them happen. In my book, when you crawl up to the “Pearly Gates” it’s a one-way ticket. Click, punch, “Next!” I don’t want aimless chit-chat like, “Did you do this?” or “Did you do that?” I’m a person of adventure. I want to shout, “Hell yeah! That and more!” 15 years working in the charter boat world and owning four companies has taught me an awful lot about charter boats. And that is why I searched out one company in particular for my whale de-virgination: Kings Ningaloo.
If you’re not in the boating game, then the words “Brother Bill” mean nothing to you, but if you are, then they mean everything.
Most skippers revere him. But the one thing I like, about Kings Ningaloo, is the “total experience”. Boat, food, humour, people. And I definitely like his marine biologists (shut up, Bill!). And this is why.
I tried every avoidance tactic not get in the water. I thought my excuses would work. To say I was tired, or sick. But everyone ganged up on me, and my pathetic excuses were crushed with a “Bullshit! Shut up! Suit up! Now! In the water!”
They were like army sergeants. Only better looking.
I wanted to kill you then Zoe, Jess and Sacha. But you made me step out of my comfort zone and I felt so safe and secure to be led by you. Thank you. I would never, ever, have done a humpback swim without you.
When we plopped in the water, I just swam like a tagged Nemo on a sashimi menu. I followed the frantic kickings, preying no one was ever above me, drizzling my back with soy sauce and dollops of wasabi!
Swimming with humpback whales is completely unnerving and life-changing. When you launch into the great, bubbly yonder, you are no longer a human and master of the world. You become a guest in their environment. Vulnerable. Blind. They rule the roost, not you. You are the weakest link. You are part of the food chain, not the producer of it.
Diving with humpback whales is also a game of tactics for the skipper. Laws of probability. Calculation. If “x” whale(s) are travelling south, at “y” speed, and I am “z” distance in front of them, will my clients “a” see a whale, or “b” have then dive below them. On our trip, I’d say the whales chose “b” about 40% of the time. The skipper is the key to success. He is the ultimate reason why you have an encounter with a humpback whale.
I’ve known Bill for a very long time and he just reads the water and animals like they are his best mates. He talks to me like he knows them. He can judge a bump or swell or ripple. I don’t know how. He just does.
Bill also hates negativity. If you come on the boat with one gloomy thought, he doesn’t want you there.
“The whales know it,” he says with confidence. I have to believe him now. “The whales aren’t going to hit you,” he chides. “They’re too smart. They know where you are!”
A few times in my life I have faced something outside of my comfort zone: this was one of them. When the horn blared and the call to “Go!” sounded, yes, I followed everyone, but we all swam with purpose; a chance meeting with the leviathan of the ocean. I swam like a man on a mission. I was scared. But then something happened. The ocean was no longer my fear but my friend. I was in it and with it. Deep and dark blues, glinting rays and firing shards of light. I suddenly realised that I’d left my fears on the boat. I was among friends. The water was warm. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, when everyone was searching in the shallower, deep blue waters, missing everything, I had this stupid idea to duck-dive. I had this compelling urge to dive down deep. As I I knew something was going to pass below me.
What I saw was beyond any photo or videographer’s dream. This huge, gentle giant rolled and slid past me, flashing the white of his belly. One chance in a lifetime. It felt like he stopped, looked me in the eye and kicked his tail fin.
For a fleeting second, I knew the two of us had embraced. Our eyes had locked and kissed.
With air failing in my lungs, I let gravity lift me upwards to the top. I had completed what few humans had ever done: a swim with humpback whales.
To call this encounter a spiritual one, is an understatement. It is hard to define. Like an attachment or bond that would never be broken. In one instance, something special and intangible happened. A chance meeting that is forever etched into my memory.
As I boarded the boat, I looked back and wondered. Would that same meeting be carried off into another world, down deep?
